


Between pumpkins, candy apples and the dead

by lillaseptember



Series: Between money, drugs and blood [6]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Blood and Gore, F/F, F/M, Gen, Gore, Halloween, M/M, Multi, Murder Family, Organized Crime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 15:55:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5133439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lillaseptember/pseuds/lillaseptember
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Our favorite criminals celebrate Halloween, all in their own, unique way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between pumpkins, candy apples and the dead

**Author's Note:**

> It's All Soul's Day today, so technically, it's still part of the Halloween Weekend. _Technically._
> 
> This is _so_ rushed, and barely coherent, but... Happy ~~late~~ Halloween!

"For Christ's sake, Hannibal, it's broad daylight."

"You know, Will, you worry too much."

"We're completely covered in blood, and you're carrying a _goddamn_ body bag."

Will's hiss was curt short as they passed an old couple making their way down the busy downtown street. Both he and Hannibal smiled at them courteously, but they only glanced at them with a slightly odd look. And turning to face him, Hannibal offered him a bemused grin. 

“It’s Halloween! Where’s your holiday spirit, dear?”

“I can’t believe you,” Will muttered, mostly to himself, as he had to step out of the way for another stressed woman that was basically scurrying through the decomposing leaves, not even sparing them a second glance.

And sure enough, Hannibal's capability of keeping up an air of prevalence had a way of making them blend into their eerie surroundings, with little kids running around dressed up as vampires and ghosts, the entire town painted in black and orange for the special occasion.

But Will was still on edge.

Part of it chagrin. He had made a promise to Alana, but hadn't even given it a second thought as Hannibal had suddenly switched into hunting mode. But to be fair, it _was_ so very hard to resist whenever Hannibal got enraptured.

And it was supposed to be a quick and easy kill. None of them had ever expected small little Mrs. Hart to put up such a resistance. Or for her to know just what she was doing.

And what should have been a silent execution had quickly turned into a grisly carnage, poor Mrs. Hart's blood splattered all over the alleyway walls and their panting forms. It wasn't until he had almost caught his breath, wiping the blood from his forehead, that Alana's voice had reverberated at the back of his mind. The husky words rapidly grew into a cacophony as Will's hands had started shaking, his head spinning and his vision blurring as he looked down at the blood dripping from his hands. Settling back against the brick wall as reality started slipping away from him, Hannibal was immediately by his side, fondling him with soothing hands as he had whispered sweet nothings to calm Will's racing heart. And as Will's eyes were steady on his again, his breathing an even rhythm along with his own, Will's hands firm on his triceps, Hannibal had reached up to smear the blood scattered across his cheeks along his cheekbones.

"She never has to know," he had whispered before kissing him, fingernails drenched in blood clawing into the back of his neck. But Hannibal had a way of pulling Will a little too resolutely back into reality, his mouth all but devouring as Will almost drowned in _his_ presence instead. And breaking away from him, his bloodstained hands still grasping on to him tightly though, thankful for his steadiness, Will focused on the mutilated body by their feet.

And Hannibal had only offered that feral grin of his.

 _Of course_ Hannibal just casually walked around with a body bag tucked into his suit jacket, and he had quickly gotten to work with gathering up what little was left of Mrs. Hart. And before Will knew it, he had just strutted out of the alley, his suit completely ruined and a corpse thrown over his shoulder, and chided him to keep up.

And still a little dazed, Will _had_ caught up with him, thinking that they would find some kind of backstreet shortcut to make their way home, keeping to the shadows and gloom.

But no, Hannibal had turned in the opposite direction, walking out into the bustling sidewalk that led into the city, meeting the glaring sunlight of the late October midday with a satisfied sigh.

Because they had promised Abigail to buy pumpkins on their way home, and what kind of fathers were they if they broke that promise?

Will had been ready to sock him then, but not wanting even more unnecessary attention, he had been able to control himself.

The other part of his uneasiness was raw fear. They _were_ hiding in plain sight, relying on the absurdity of the season to cover their tracks. And that had never been Will's design.

But he knew it was Hannibal's. 

Hannibal hiked the corpse higher over his shoulder as they stopped in line by the closest pumpkin stand they came across, Hannibal thankfully not pushing his luck further than he had to. And event though Will noticed how they overcharged the plump fruit something ridiculous, he couldn't quite find it in him to care. Waiting out their turn, Hannibal happily hummed to himself, and Will allowed his gaze to wander over the scene, the late autumn sun seeping through the mostly leafless trees, the street bustling with last-minute holiday errands and the residences around them decorated for the festivities.

“You know Wolf Street?” The mention of their home dragged Will out of his own melancholy though, and he focused on the young boys in front of him in the queue. The boy who had brought the subject up wore a Mets cap on backwards, and his blonde hair seemed to be in a desperate need for a cut.

“Yeah?” The boy's friend, a shorter and dark haired fella, didn't even glance up from his phone as he replied.

“I’ve heard that some of the houses are _haunted_. My brother’s told me he’s seen people walk into some of the houses." Pausing for the dramatic effect, he leaned in closer to his friend. "And then never come out again."

That caught the attention of the other boy though, and he looked up from his phone long enough to fix the first one with a scornful look.

“Come on Brad. That’s ridiculous.”

Will looked over to his husband, offering him a glare that only dared him to chime in, but Hannibal just grinned at him.

“No it’s not! My brother _never_ lies and…”

The two boys continued arguing until it was their turn to bargain over the festive decorations, and soon enough, it was Will and Hannibal's turn.

And the young girl standing by the booth nearly jumped out of her skin as she turned to faced them.

Will's heart dropped to his stomach, and he felt himself instinctively reaching for his knife, but before he could do anything too drastic, the girl then only laughed heartily.

“Oh my god, you nearly scared me to death! That’s some really realistic costumes you got there, _very_ impressive.”

Trying to work around his awkward scramble for weaponry, Will only offered her a strained smile, but Hannibal practically beamed at her.

“Thank you.”

“Like honestly, you should enter some contest or something.”

“We just want some pumpkins, please," Will muttered as he battled down the desire to rub at his eyes, feeling the fatigue from the day's activities slowly settling in.

“Oh, yes, of course!” The girl exclaimed as she tried to wipe the smile from her face, keeping up some kind of air of professionalism. 

“Yes, that will do, ” Hannibal said as he pointed at one of the smaller, still quite unripe fruits at the end of the stand.

And that was when Will nearly snapped. 

“Are you kidding me?” Turning on Hannibal in exasperation, his husband just met him in confusion. “If we’re _doing_ this, we might as well do it properly.” Turning back to the girl again, he wriggled his wallet out of his blood drenched slacks. “I want three of your largest pumpkins.”

The girl looked a little more dubiously at them, her stupid grin finally wiped off her face, but she slowly turned around to fulfill his request. Sighing in exhaustion, he glanced up at Hannibal again, only to find him smiling at him brilliantly.

And after paying the girl with slightly bloodstained money, ultimately provoking a startled reaction from her, Will and Hannibal slowly started on their way again, still completely covered in poor Mrs. Hart’s blood, a body bag thrown over Hannibal’s shoulder, and a grandiose pumpkin tucked under his other arm, Will balancing the other two in his bloodstained embrace.

Following the main street all the way home.

* * *

It was already dusk, even though it was only mid-afternoon. The October sky that had been so bright and clear the entire day was slowly scattered with charcoal clouds, holding the heavy promises of rain. But with a bit of luck, they would stay dry the rest of the night.

Clarence paved their way, his small body almost bursting from excitement as his cape fluttered in his wake as he skipped down the street. The trees lining the streets were decorated with small lights, even in this more rural part of town, and it was a nice complimentary to the streetlight in the increasingly pressing darkness. Some of the houses had jack-o-lantern perched on their doorsteps, and some few even had a little more festive decoration, with spider nets and skeletons resting on their walls. But most of them were completely deserted, not a single sign of life in their shattered windows, their rotting facades tilting slightly, and somehow, that contributed more to the ghost-town feeling than the decorations ever would.

Clarence had insisted to start his trick-or-treat round on Wolf Street, and seeing how Alana and Margot had planed for him to keep to the city center for the rest of the night, they figured that starting on the outskirts of town was just as good.

And they really didn't get out walking quite near enough these days.

Grabbing hold of her wife's hand as they watched their son dance with his own shadow in the soft streetlight, Margot looked up at her with an curious look.

"You ready to be startled by ghosts and ghouls tonight?"

“Are you?” She immediately retorted with a wicked glint in her eyes and a mischievous smirk on her scarlet lips, a side of her Alana didn't get to see nearly enough. And snaking an arm around her narrow waist as she nuzzled into her soft curls, Clarence sprinting down the street in front of them, Margot hummed contentedly.

Finding her ear in the mass of hair, Alana pressed her lips to it and dropped her voice to a gentle whisper.

" _But I can thrill you more than any ghost would ever dare try."_

Margot jerked slightly in her embrace, and twisting out of it long enough to turn around to face her, she offered her a halfway repulsed, halfway incredulous look.

“You did _not_ just quote Michael Jackson at me.”

But Alana just grinned, despite her best effort to look offended, and Margot broke down in laughter as she shook her head in disbelief.

“He’s The King!”

“Of the _80’s_!" She cried as she gently grabbed hold of Alana's face, shaking it softly. "Ugh, you’re such a nerd.” Scrunching her nose adorably in disapproval, she still tilted into Alana's embrace again, and cupped her cheek tenderly. “But that’s why I love you.”

Alana smiled into her kiss, and the both laughed as Clarence's noise of half-disgust, half-impatience broke them off.

"Mommy's, _come on!_ "

Both loudly humming the "Thriller" melody as they caught up with him, Clarence weren't able to fight the giggle that erupted from his chest as they attacked him, munching down rosy nose and cheeks.

And he still beamed with glee as they helped him climb the steps up to 66 Wolf Street.

The stairs were decorated with no less than three enormous jack-o-lanterns, all carved in their own distinct designs. The one at the bottom held an artistic viciousness, the candle within it burning as if it were lit with pure hellfire. The one in the middle had been carved with half-hearted enthusiasm, with hurried and sharp edges that managed to portray the seething wrath of its carver in a way that had probably not been intentional. And the one on the top of the stairs were all soft and sweeping curves, but didn't quite manage to hide the menace that burned behind the innocent smile.

Stopping by the doorstep of the familiar townhouse, Margot helped Clarence to reach the doorbell, and he practically bounced from excitement as they waited for the answer.

And after what felt like a small eternity, the door slowly opened with a whining screech.

"Trick or treat!" Unable to contain his excitement any longer, Clarence basically hurled his plastic pumpkin bucket at the individual that greeted them. But Abigail, donned in a floppy old dress and a pointed hat, was prepared for his entrance this time around, and she didn't lose her usual cool.

“Well, well, well," she drawled as she leaned against the door frame. "What do we have here?”

“I’m Batman!” Clarence, quite unnecessarily, proclaimed as he jumped to demonstrate just how his cape flapped in the wind.

“Yeah?”

"Yeah! I'm going to fight _all_ the bad people!"

"Even me?"

Her unexpected question caught them all by surprise, and Clarence finally stilled as he froze by his place, his zest quickly faltering as he looked up at her with a quizzical look. Alana also narrowed her eyes as she inspected the young girls still cool grin, wondering just what kind of game she was playing.

“What?”

“Well, witches aren’t known for being the best of people.”

“Oh, but _you’re_ a _good_ witch!” He immediately concluded, and he was so very steadfast in his conviction that Abigial chuckled brightly.

“Yes, that I am,” she confirmed before she quickly disappeared behind the door, and when she returned, it was with a gigantic tray in her hands. “And therefore, I offer treats.”

She crouched down to Clarence's level, and as she did, Alana took a moment to consider its contents. Small spheres with sticks sticking out of them, all decorated individually to resemble everything from jack-o-lanterns to ghosts to spiderwebs.

“Candy apples?” She heard herself ask before she could stop herself. “Really?”

Abigail glanced up at her with an amused look as Clarence carefully inspected the sugar coated apples in hunt for the tastiest looking one.

“This _is_ the household of Hannibal Graham-Lecter after all.”

“And that he thinks you’re not going to get egged this year…” Margot mulled with a bemused grin tugging at her lips.

“What is this I’m hearing about egging?”

Coming up behind Abigail in the doorway, wearing a transparent raincoat splattered in crimson over his pinstripe suit, Hannibal smiled at them in greeting. And it wasn't until the absurdity of the whole situation settled that Alana realized that he was carrying a brain on a silver platter.

“Hannibal!” Alana’s heart sank to her gut as she couldn't believe this was happening all over again, Margot instinctively pulled Clarence to her, and he looked up at them with a dazed expression just as he was about to dig into his candy apple decorated with tiny little vampire fangs.

Alana was just about to do something irrational as Hannibal frowned softly before he looked down at himself, only to immediately glance up at her again, offering her an innocent smile that could have rivaled Abigail's.

“I’m Patrick Bateman!” He declared before plucking a, thankfully quite obvious, plastic axe from behind the door, he smiled brilliantly at the small family on his doorstep.

“Cool!" Clarence's eyes twinkling with awe as he inspected the quite vivid costume, his eyes trailing to the platter in Hannibal's hands, and his grin only grew, the morbidity of the whole situation evidently not bothering him in the slightest. And Alana didn't know what to make out of that. "Is that a real brain?”

Clarence almost glowing with admiration as he gaped at the bizarre family he esteemed so highly. Alana tried to steady her frantic heartbeat as she watched Abigial slowly stand up again, and she found herself cursed the day she had fist met Hannibal Lecter. How much simpler life would have been without him in it.

But also, how much duller.

Hannibal himself glanced down at the brain before he regarded the small boy in front of him.

“Why, of course," he stated with a straight face, and Alana's heart refused to settle. "I’ve got the rest of the body waiting in the fridge.”

But then he offered a mischievous wink, Clarence giggled excitedly, and Alana caught the strained smile Margot offered him.

“Lithuanian Psycho,” Alana muttered to herself, disbelief and amusement mingling together until she couldn't tell them apart anymore. The thing was that she couldn't tell if the squiggly organ in Hannibal's hands was real or not, and his behavior didn't help in the slightest.

But Clarence looked up at her with a quizzical look.

“Mommy, what’s a ‘psycho’?”

“I’ll explain later,” she skittered around the question as she gently petted his bat-ears clothed head, suddenly _very_ keen to get back to the city. _She had always known deep down that it had been a bad idea coming here_.

But her train of thought was immediately interrupted by the appearance of the last member of the Wolf Street family.

“Why are we talking about psychos?”

Will squeezed his way into the doorway, settling in between his husband and daughter. His face was painted to illustrate his skull, a quite skillful work, but otherwise he didn't look any different than he usually did, messy curls tumbling into his forehead and a quite weary look in his evergreen eyes.

“Uncle Will!”

But he smiled by the sight of Clarence, and crouched down in order to poke him playfully in the belly, right above his utility belt, and Clarence lit up with glee all over again.

And Alana couldn't find it in her heart to just tear him away just then.

Homicide be damned. 

“Hey there, buddy.”

“You look awesome!”

“Thanks,” Will and Abigail answered at the same time, Will somewhat sheepishly, and Abigail with a fierce pride.

A slightly awkward silence settled between them all after that, before Abigail gave her father a pointed look.

“You _don’t_ get to take credit for my work.”

“It was _you_ who insisted I had to get dressed up in the first place.”

“It’s Halloween! The _one day_ of the year you don’t get to be a killjoy.”

“She does have a point dear,” Hannibal interjected, and Alana could feel the exhaustion heaving on her shoulders as she inspected this peculiar family, this uncanny assembly of people she somehow considered her friends. And sharing a look with Margot, she gently reached out to grab a hold of her son's shoulder.

“Well, Clarence, if you want to acquire more than just a candy apple tonight, we _really_ need to get going.”

“Oh, yeah!” The prospects of real candy was the one thing to finally tear his focus from the Murder Family. And delightedly munching on his candy apple, which he was still far from ungrateful for, he only stopped once to bid the Graham-Lecters goodbye as he skipped down their steps. "Bye!"

“See you later, buddy.”

“Have fun tonight.”

“Happy hunting!”

Feeling a stress ulcer slowly developing, Alana was still helpless to fight the smile that tugged at her lips. 

“You’re all _unbelievable_.” But not finding the strength, or time to scorn the contract killers a second time that month, she just grabbed hold of Margot's hand before they made to set after their constantly sprinting son.

“It was nice to see you too, Alana.”

And Abigail waved to Clarence as he quickly made his way down the street again, as Hannibal snaked his free arm around Will as they bid the Bloom-Vergers goodbye for this time around.

* * *

The bright setting of celebration had slowly transformed into grey melancholy overnight. The skies were completely overcast, and there was a soft drizzle in the air, which was biting and heavy and damp, as if the new month were determined to instantly bring bleaker and gloomier times. And Freddie would have much rather preferred to have stayed indoors, with a nice book and a hot cup of tea, rather than to be toiling on her knees at the local graveyard. 

But some holidays you chose to celebrate, while some you simply had to.

Picking at the last tidying, pressing the soil more firmly into the ground and lighting the candle she had brought, she slowly inspected her day's handiwork.

She would have liked Freddie's choice. Some Witch Hazel, in accordance with the season, mixed up with some chervil herbs created an organized clutter of colors in front of her grave. She had always hated shrubs with only the intention of decoration. There always had to be some utility to it.

But Freddie felt like she had found an acceptable middle ground.

Aesthetical practicality.

Smiling as she thought about what she would have had to say about Freddie's everlasting ability to seek out every last loophole, she was just about to pack up when a movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention.

A figure had just stopped by the grave next to her, with raven curls combed back from his forehead, an obviously meticulously trimmed stubble in order to pull off that offhandedly rugged look, a worm leather jacket and a genuinely ghastly looking bouquet of flowers pressed to his chest.

He glanced down at her, their eyes meeting, and he sneered softly.

“Miss Lounds.” There was malevolence in his eyes, but he was civil enough as greeted her.

“Frederick.” 

Smirking at his obvious discomfort, she couldn't help but to feel oddly proud. She still had a one-up on him, and she had a feeling that it wouldn't last for very much longer, so she figured it was best to enjoy it while she still could. But a tense silence stretched between them after that, and Freddie had to avert her gaze, glancing down at her handmade flowerbed. 

What were really the chances of them meeting like this?

Reaching down to gently correct some stray petals again, she almost jumped out of her own skin as he finally spoke up again.

”Mother?” Inspecting the name and date on her stone, his eyebrows had furrowed in thought.

”Yes,” Freddie acknowledged slowly as she reached out to caress the stone. It was cold and lifeless in her hands, nothing like the warm and spirited woman she had spent her childhood looking up to.

But refusing to get swept up in her own sentimentality while in his presence, she forced her gaze to shift to the stone he was currently standing in front of. _Chilton_ the name read above a date a little over a decade in the past. _Chilton_. She turned the name over in her mind a few times before letting her eyes wander up to the still very animated man in front of her.

“Father?”

“Yeah,” he just muttered weakly before burrowing his face in the collar of his jacket, _she still remembered its warmth_ , and crouched down to place the garish bouquet upon the slowly withering grass of the grave.

A moment of silence stretched between them again, before he added, with a sullen expression; “A drunken bastard. Figures he had to go and off himself on fucking _dia de todos los santos._ ”

Freddie smiles softly as she watched him rise to his full height, a soft frown on his face, but a glaring tenderness in his eyes. She had figured he had some hispanic heritage.

Looking down on her own gravestone, she suddenly couldn't help the wave of sentimentality that washed over her.

“Mom always enjoyed _Zaduszki_. I feel like I owe it to her to keep the tradition going.”

She could feel his gaze inspecting her slowly.

“Slavic?”

Smiling, she turned to face him again.

“Polish. And half Scottish,” she added as he quirked an brow in surprise, and she had to fight down a chuckle. But facing the grave again, the short lived gaiety quickly faltered. “But dad’s never been much for superstition.”

“Good for him.”

Frederick's answer came so suddenly and so bitterly that she had to glance up at him again. He was studying his father's gravestone, a surly expression on his unguarded face, and Freddie couldn't help but wonder what wraiths haunted him at night.

But feeling like she had gotten more than enough to ponder on for just one day, she slowly cleared her throat.

“Well,” standing up in the damp grass, she put all of her weight on the balls of her feet in order for her heels not to sink into the soggy soil and brushed off her gloves as she examined her work one last time. _She would have liked it._ “I have an article that’s just _begging_ to be written.”

“I bet you do.” The burning loathing instantly returned to his eyes as he regarded her again. But behind it there was something that burned even hotter. And Freddie found herself to be pleased by that fact.

“I’ll see you around, Chilton.” 

Patting his shoulder sympathetically before she started her way down the old gravel path, she could feel his gaze burning on her.

“Miss Lounds.”

And smirking as she made her way out of the graveyard, she tugged her scarf a little closer to keep out the biting cold, even though a pleasant warmth already cursed through her.

She now had two up on him.

* * *

The storm whisked on outside, the bare branches of the trees bending and rattling, their dead leaves whirling in the gray moonlight as the rain pattered against the windowsill. Inside however, the candlelights barely flickered in the rigid air, and not even the skittering of spiders disturbed the deadly quiet of the attic.

But the striking rhythm pounded within her head, a furious beating that rocked her entire body, and her eyes danced helplessly behind her eyelids as her chest heaved with her frantic heartbeat.

The rotten floorboards beneath her creaked softly as her head started thrashing more mercilessly from one side to the other, tears welling in her eyes as her temples throbbed with the beat, the hammering deafening and all consuming, blurring out the rest of the entire world. But with one final, thunderous pounding that felt like it might have split her head open, it broke, and her breath was violently and mercilessly jerked out of her body. Gasping desperately as her hair swung in messy tendrils over the golden chalice by her crossed legs, her head spinning by the sudden loss of air, she scrambled for the needle by her side. And raising it with shaking hands, she drilled it into the tender flesh of her finger, hissing slightly as it scraped the underside of her nail, but having to stifle a giddy laugh as her crimson blood dripped down onto the waiting concoction.

Wiping away her tears, leaving a messy trail of blood on her cheeks instead, she tried to steady her breathing as she watched the hot fluid melding with the pulverized snake bones and graveyard chervil. Whirling lazily in its container, the mixture slowly turned from a dull grey to a bright scarlet until it rapidly flared up in a menacing emerald green, illuminating the entire attic and snuffing out the candlelights with a low pulse.

And Abigail gasped for breath as a thick mist softly started rising from it.

”Father.” 

She was breathless as the sheer shadow of Garret Jacob Hobbs started taking shape in front of her, the slick tendrils of his contours curling in the numb air.

Hobbs' eyes were hallow, only a hazy veil momentarily obscuring reality. They held no animosity, only a heavy forlorn that Abigail felt no pity against. But the gunshot wound was still gaping brashly in his forehead, an open entrance to his mind, a clear path to his deepest secrets. A third eye that stared through all Abigail's covers and right to her core.

”You are no more tangible than I. Nothing more than shadows among the living." His lips didn't move, but his words still rang clearly in her head, and they shook her all the way to her bones. His lips quirked slightly as he stated this, always pleased to find similarities between the two of them. But it quickly vanished as he slowly started making his way towards her. "But you are still flesh and blood, my girl. There should be nothing stopping you from conquering all that is rightfully yours." Stopping just above her, his eyes held a surprising sorrow as he inspected her. "But there is a hole in your chest, Abigail.”

She gasped as he suddenly reached out to her, his translucent fingers grazing over her scar, but she didn't flinch away from his touch. His cool corporeality sank into her collarbone, wiry fingers grasping down at her heart until his entire arm was eventually engulfed by her rib cage. Leaning towards her, his shattered forehead slowly merged with her own, his presence pressed into hers, and then he had submerged within her.

He settled low in her gut, where he softly treaded around on her bowels before snuggling into place just behind her bellybutton, and laid down to rest.

_I forgive you._

The three whispered words vibrated through her entire being, rattling her all the way down to her toes. Broken sobs racked from her body then, sudden and vicious, and she lost her balance, tumbling onto the damp floorboards which creaked beneath her while her tears slowly transformed to relieved giggles as something resembling entirety swelled within her.

_That a ghost should be so practical._

**Author's Note:**

> I _swear_ I had the "Lithuanian Psycho" idea before I read [Lithuanian Psycho](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5114531) by [VictoriaAGray](http://archiveofourown.org/users/VictoriaAGrey/pseuds/VictoriaAGrey)! Great minds think alike, I suppose. And it really is a wonderful story, so you should all definitely check it out if you haven't already.
> 
> And the "You know, Will, you worry too much" line might just have ended up as my favorite in the entire series. _Ooops?_
> 
> Also, I managed to reference _at least_ three F+TM songs in Abigail's last part. Obsessed? Me? What?


End file.
